Sometimes the most Christian thing to do is shut up



I didn’t want to write this. I still don’t.

The push notification lit up my phone while I was working out — campers swept away as the Guadalupe River surged dozens of feet in under an hour. I walked out of the gym and teared up in my truck.

Now I’m stuffing sunscreen and swimsuits into two trunks. My older two kids head off to sleepaway camp next week. How do I tell them the adventure they’re so giddy about just turned fatal for other families? What can a keyboard jockey like me offer when other parents are living a nightmare? My first instinct was to close the laptop, whisper a prayer, and stay quiet.

But silence isn’t always the faithful response.

Entire campsites — from Kerr County to the back roads of Texas Hill Country — have been wiped away. Parents who expected mosquito bites and ghost stories are now scanning riverbanks for anything recognizable. They don’t need punditry. They need the rest of us to witness their grief without turning it into the next battleground in the culture war.

That’s the part I dread most.

Within hours of the first siren, the internet erupted in blame. Was it climate change? Outdated flood maps? Local negligence? Federal failure? Pick your camp, rack up your retweets, move the score marker. The bodies weren’t even identified before the hashtags started trending. It’s as if we’ve forgotten how to mourn without also trying to win.

'Where was God?' feels like the only honest question when the water rises. But storms don’t mean vengeance, any more than sunsets are God’s apology.

Then there’s that phrase believers lean on — “thoughts and prayers.” “Ts and Ps,” as Gen Z sneers. If I lost one of my kids, those words would feel like a whispered lullaby in a room suddenly emptied of breath — tender, well-meaning, and painfully inadequate.

Not because prayer is pointless. Because the cliché is.

When calamity struck, Job’s friends “sat with him on the ground seven days … and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his grief was very great.” No carbon emissions debate. No X threads. Just presence. Silence. Solidarity.

Maybe that’s the posture we need now — especially along a river whose name, Guadalupe, traces back to “river of the wolf.” Creation still has teeth. Even waters we picnic beside can turn predator in a single thunderstorm. Wolves hunt in packs. They also protect their own. Maybe that’s the symbolism: The same river that devoured so many calls the rest of us to move as a pack — toward the survivors, not away.

Real faith doesn’t show up as a hashtag. It comes in the form of casseroles and chain saws, spare bedrooms and Venmo links. It hauls soggy photo albums into the sun. It listens more than it lectures. When Jesus met Mary and Martha at the tomb, He wept before He preached. Maybe that’s the order we’ve lost.

RELATED: Liberal women quickly learn what happens when you say vile things about little girls killed in the floods

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So what can we do from a distance?

Give until it pinches — money, blood, bottled water, even unused PTO if your workplace allows donations. Relief crews will need support for months, not days.

Go if you can. Student ministries, church groups, skilled contractors — this work doesn’t end when the cameras leave.

Guard these families’ dignity. Share verified donation links, not drone footage of recovered bodies. If you wouldn’t show the image to your child, don’t post it.

Grieve aloud. Let your kids see adults who don’t numb tragedy with mindless scrolling.

And yes, pray— not as a substitute for action, but as its source. Prayer is oxygen for those on their feet. When the apostle James said, “Faith without works is dead,” he might as well have been looking out the window of a rescue chopper.

I get the temptation to shake a fist at heaven. “Where was God?” feels like the only honest question when the water rises. But storms don’t mean vengeance, any more than sunsets are God’s apology. Scripture calls Him a refuge and redeemer, not a puppet master yanking strings to break hearts. Turning away from God now is like fleeing the only lighthouse in a gale.

If grief makes prayer sound hollow, answer the hollowness with action — and with the stubborn belief that the Creator remains good, even when creation feels cruel.

I still don’t want to write this. I’d rather tuck my kids in tonight and pretend rivers respect property lines and holiday weekends. But if this piece offers anything, let it give permission to mourn without politicizing. For one day — one hour even — let grief be grief. Let dads hold their kids tighter. Let moms remind us that safety doesn’t come with a zip code. Let the church prove it’s more than a Sunday address.

With the sparklers of Independence Day barely cooled, maybe the most patriotic thing we can do is recover the lost art of compassionate presence. No monologue — including this one — can fill a bunk bed left empty. But through gifts, sweat, silence, and prayer, maybe we can shoulder a sliver of the weight.

If you’re reading this in a dry living room, remember the families whose furniture is floating somewhere downriver.

Before you post, pause.

Before you debate, donate.

If “thoughts and prayers” still feel hollow, add two more words: “Here’s how.”

Then go do it.

Wake-up call: This is what happens when Christians are afraid to offend



A new Pew study suggests the steep decline in Christianity is finally “leveling off,” as if that’s a cause for celebration. It’s not. The damage is done. Entire generations have grown up with no real catechesis, no spiritual formation, and no sense of the sacred.

But make no mistake: This isn’t happening because the church refused to modernize. It’s happening because it did.

If the apostles walked into half these churches today, they wouldn’t smile or applaud. They’d flip tables.

For decades, the great institutions of Western Christianity traded clarity for relevance and truth for tone. Sermons stopped warning and started pandering. The word “sin” was quietly retired, considered too sharp for modern ears. In its place came talk of “journeys,” “growth,” and whatever else kept the collection plate full. The church, once feared by tyrants and hated by the powerful, rebranded itself as a wellness center with great art.

The cross became a prop. The sacraments became optional. The faith became a product: Clean, inoffensive, entirely forgettable.

It wasn’t outreach — it was surrender.

Internal sabotage

In Germany, Bishop Gregor Maria Hanke recently stepped down. Not in disgrace but in exhaustion, drained by a church more obsessed with synodal committees and gender equity audits than with souls. In England, Rowan Williams, the former archbishop of Canterbury, now sounds like a man trying to apologize for ever having believed anything at all. His God is not the Lion of Judah, but a poetic abstraction — something you might ponder over tea with the New Atheists, whom he now openly sympathizes with in the New York Times. Under his influence, Anglicanism traded its spine for softness, turned cathedrals into museums, and watched belief crumble under the weight of constant theological retreat.

One is Catholic, the other Protestant. Different branches, same disease: a church more eager to appease the culture than to challenge it.

Let’s call this what it is: Internal sabotage — and it’s everywhere.

The crisis facing Christianity isn’t secularism but cowardice. Many argue that the culture has conquered the church. But I argue instead that the church surrendered. A church that’s afraid to offend cannot save, command allegiance, inspire sacrifice, or offer truth.

It fades, not with a bang, but with a bow — one retreat at a time. First on marriage, then on sin, then on the very uniqueness of Christ. By the time it gets to the resurrection, no one’s listening, and even the preacher isn’t sure he believes it.

Exhibit A

You see this collapse most clearly in the rise of cafeteria Catholicism, the unofficial religion of the spiritually lukewarm, the pick-and-choose faithful. They love the incense and the music, the ashes and the Advent calendars, but deny the church’s authority and rewrite morality to match whatever’s trending on TikTok. They cross themselves at Mass, then applaud abortion at the ballot box. They genuflect before the altar only to kneel again at the altar of “inclusion.”

Jesus, to them, was a nice guy. So was Buddha. And really, who are we to judge?

It’s not faith. Not really. It’s branding. And like all branding, it demands nothing and means even less. These are people who want the comfort of religion without the burden of obedience. A God who affirms, not one who commands. A God who blesses their choices, not reshapes them. A God who whispers sweet nothings instead of thundering truth.

But a gospel that never tests is a gospel that never transforms. And a church that never says “no” is a church no one takes seriously.

For years, church leadership has whispered that hell is probably empty, celibacy is optional, and the Eucharist is just a metaphor if that’s easier for you to stomach.

So it’s no surprise that millions now treat Christianity like a salad bar: A little resurrection, hold the repentance.

No power in conformity

The early Christians weren’t tortured and killed because they tried to fit in — but because they refused to conform to the spirit of the age. They stood for something absolute. Something final. They proclaimed Christ as King in a world that demanded silence, and they paid for it in blood.

That’s what gave them power. That’s what made Rome afraid.

They weren’t trying to be liked. They were trying to be faithful. They didn’t soften their message to gain followers. Instead, they hardened their resolve, and the church exploded across the world because of it. Not in spite of the offense, but because of it. The gospel was a scandal then, and it should still be one now.

Today’s church, by contrast, tiptoes through culture like it’s walking on broken glass. It holds interfaith dialogues with those who openly despise it and lobbies for carbon taxes while souls starve. We have Catholic bishops who march in Pride parades but are nowhere to be found at pro-life vigils. We have Protestant pastors hosting drag nights in church basements while their congregations hemorrhage members. The shepherds worry more about upsetting activists than defending the word of God. They preach about climate change, white privilege, and plastic straws.

But they stay silent on sin, judgment, and repentance. It’s time for both Catholics and Protestants to snap out of it. This isn’t a debate over doctrine. It’s a culture that wants the church destroyed, and too many inside it are holding the door open.

A purified church

If the apostles walked into half these churches today, they wouldn’t smile or applaud. They’d flip tables.

God doesn’t need marketers. He needs martyrs. Not spiritual consultants but disciples. The future of Christianity will not be built by bishops apologizing to the New York Times or pastors retweeting the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals. It will be built by those who kneel in silence and believe in public, even when the world calls them fools.

Maybe that’s the real message here: The church isn’t dying but being purified.

Let the saboteurs resign. Let the cowards step down. Let the cafeteria close. What’s left will be smaller, yes — but stronger. Not performative. Not progressive. But holy. Finally, again, holy.

One declaration sparked a nation. The other sparks confusion.



This week, my university emailed a Fourth of July reflection that caught my attention. It claimed the “backbone of our independence” is entrepreneurship and praised secular universities as the seedbed of innovation — and, by extension, democracy itself.

I’m all for business. Enterprise, creativity, and free markets foster prosperity and reward initiative. But business doesn’t create liberty. It depends on liberty. Markets flourish only when justice, rights, and human dignity already exist. In other words, business is a fruit of independence, not its root.

Our freedoms — legal, political, scientific, and economic — grow best in soil nourished by the belief in human dignity grounded in something greater than man.

As we celebrate Independence Day, it’s worth remembering the true foundation of American freedom. The Declaration of Independence doesn’t just announce our break with Britain — it explains why that break was just. “We hold these truths to be self-evident,” it says, “that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights.”

That single sentence tells us where rights come from: not from governments or markets, but from God. Human equality doesn’t rest on ability, wealth, or status — qualities that always vary. It rests on the shared reality that each of us bears the image of the same Creator.

This truth isn’t just historical. It remains the cornerstone of liberty. Without it, terms like “human rights” or “justice” collapse into slogans. If rights don’t come from God, where do they come from? Who gives them? And who can take them away?

Contrast our Declaration with the United Nations’ 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights. That document says people “have” rights — but doesn’t explain why or where they come from or why rights matter. It invokes no Creator, no image of God, no natural law, no self-evident truth or moral source beyond political consensus. Rights, it suggests, are whatever the international community agrees they are.

That’s a dangerous idea. If rights come from consensus, consensus can erase them. If governments or global committees grant rights, they can redefine or revoke them when convenient. There is no firm ground, only shifting sands.

Many Americans now prefer this softer, godless version of human dignity. They invoke justice but reject the Judge. They want rights without a Creator, happiness without truth, liberty without responsibility. But rights without God offer no security — and happiness without God dissolves into fantasy. It’s a mirage.

This project of cutting freedom off from its source cannot last. Our freedoms — legal, political, scientific, and economic — grow best in soil nourished by the belief in human dignity grounded in something greater than man.

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We live in God’s world. That distinction matters. A society built on contracts negotiates rights. A society built on covenants honors obligations to the truth. The difference isn’t just theological — it’s civilizational.

By rejecting the Creator, we don’t advance progress. We erase the foundation that made progress possible. C.S. Lewis put it this way: “You cannot go on 'explaining away' forever: you will find that you have explained explanation itself away.”

Explain away God, and you explain away the reason rights exist.

So this Independence Day, remember what liberty really means — and what sustains it. We’re not free because we said so. We’re free because we answer to a law higher than any court or committee. We are created equal because we are created — period.

Entrepreneurship has its place. But the American experiment wasn’t born from a business plan. It began with a declaration that acknowledged God. If we want that experiment to endure, we must not forget what made it possible in the first place.

Our churches are sitting ducks. Here's how to fight back.



This week, millions of Americans will celebrate the blood-bought freedoms our forefathers secured for us with fireworks, family, and cookouts.

That declaration, signed by 56 men, was not just a recounting of grievances or an important political declaration. It was a document of war. These men were ready to defend their God-given freedoms with steel and shot. Among the signers of the Declaration of Independence was John Witherspoon, a Presbyterian minister. While he was the only pastor who signed the document, the war for independence that followed was supported by clergy in nearly every colony. They brought the spiritual munitions necessary to justify their congregants' and country’s fight against the British crown.

Many churches celebrate the religious liberty enumerated in the First Amendment, but few champion the Second.

This right of self-governance and self-defense was not a novel theological concept. It was baked into Protestant political thought. And it was out of this Protestant heritage that America was born.

However, this type of preaching and instruction seems muted in our day. As Americans’ Second Amendment rights remain besieged in various states and jurisdictions, many pulpits remain silent about the threats their congregants face.

Even more pressing for many churches, though, is the threat posed by those who wish to do the church harm, often while armed.

Why every church needs a security team

Every church needs a security team.

In an ideal world, the only weapons needed on a Sunday morning would be the sword of the Spirit and the shield of faith. Our children could run freely through the sanctuary without a single parent wondering if a madman might walk in. Evil would be rare and dealt with swiftly by just rulers who have been appointed to punish the evildoer. In such a world, peace would be the norm, not the exception.

In a merely less-than-ideal world, where threats exist, we would at least hope the civil magistrate would protect churches as sacred gathering spaces. The state would prioritize security for these vital institutions that shape the moral and social health of the nation. And we’d expect the state to make it easier — not harder — for congregations to defend themselves.

But that’s not the world we live in either.

We live in a world where churches are being actively targeted by would-be killers and where politicians pass laws that make congregants sitting ducks. We live in a world where police departments are understaffed, underpaid, and overtasked. And we live in a world where insurance companies and government bureaucracies penalize churches for taking common-sense steps to protect their people.

Recently, a man attempted to carry out a mass shooting at CrossPointe Community Church in Wayne, Michigan. Thankfully, it was thwarted before tragedy struck. A deacon of the church heroically struck the assailant with his pickup truck, slowing the attacker’s approach. Then, a trained member of the church security team engaged the shooter and fatally shot him before he could enter the sanctuary. But the mere fact that it got that close, yet again, should shake pastors and church leaders out of their slumber.

This is not a one-off case. It is the reality that many churches face in a civilization unraveling.

RELATED: Church security team member recalls moment when 'evil came to our door'

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And yet when churches take steps to prepare — by forming volunteer security teams, for example — they are often punished by insurers. Many insurance companies raise a church’s premiums by up to 20% if the church has an organized security presence, unless those volunteers undergo professional training that can cost several thousand dollars per person. For small or midsize congregations, this burden is often too high.

Hiring off-duty police officers, meanwhile, can cost $60 to $75 an hour. That may be manageable for a megachurch with a multimillion-dollar budget. But for the average congregation trying to keep the lights on and fund ministry, $30,000 annually for armed security simply isn’t feasible.

It’s not just private institutions or police departments creating barriers. The state is becoming a direct obstacle.

In 2024, Colorado passed Senate Bill 24‑131, which declared churches and other religious buildings to be “sensitive spaces.” Under this law, concealed carry would have been forbidden on church property unless the church explicitly issues a written exemption for each individual. This was ultimately rescinded by the state. But in places like Boulder County, where leftist officials refused to grant the necessary permissions, the exemption requirement remains in place.

In practice, that means churches that want their congregants to carry cannot do so by law.

Colorado is not unique. Similar legislation exists in California, New York, Illinois, and other blue states. The trend is clear: Disarm peaceful citizens and disempower local churches from protecting their congregations.

This means churches are stuck in a legal and financial bind. On one hand, they are increasingly likely to be targeted by insane individuals seeking death or driven by ideological hatred. On the other hand, they are punished for taking even modest steps toward preparedness.

So what is the church to do?

First, we must stop pretending that spiritual and physical safety are mutually exclusive.

Some well-meaning pastors resist forming security teams or speaking of the importance of self-defense because they believe it’s a distraction from the gospel. But loving your neighbor includes defending your neighbor. Good shepherds guard the flock not only from false teachers but from wolves of every kind.

In fact, it seems that we are in a day when advertising that the church has a security team would be an attraction, not a deterrent, to would-be churchgoers.

Scripture does not pit spiritual vigilance against physical readiness. Nehemiah, when rebuilding Jerusalem’s walls, stationed men with swords in one hand and tools in the other. Jesus Himself instructed His disciples to buy a sword (Luke 22:36), not so they could go on the offensive, but so they would be prepared.

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Second, churches must form well-organized volunteer teams. These don’t need to be tactical operators. They need to be faithful, dependable men vetted, trained, and alert. Veterans, off-duty officers, and responsible gun owners are often already sitting in the pews. Pastors or deacons should identify these men, invest in their development, and establish protocols for emergencies.

Third, churches should not be ashamed to advocate for their rights. As our forefathers understood, there is no biblical reason to surrender the ability to protect one’s people. Just as churches fight for religious liberty, we should also contend for self-defense and security. This includes contacting lawmakers, organizing with other local churches, and resisting unconstitutional laws through legal means.

Many churches celebrate the religious liberty enumerated in the First Amendment, but few champion the Second.

Finally, we must honor the men who already serve. Every week, there are faithful men who sit near the exits, who watch the doors, who glance sideways when a stranger walks in with a backpack, and who make quiet mental notes while others sing hymns. These men aren’t paranoid. They’re protective. They are answering the call to keep watch while others worship in peace.

It’s time for every church to acknowledge reality and act with courage. Our congregations should be places of peace, but not because we are blind to danger. Rather, they should be places of peace because good men stand ready at the gates.

We may live in a fallen world, but that doesn’t mean we must be foolish in it. God does not bless the naive. Churches have a unique calling to shepherd the souls of mankind in the truth of the Lord Jesus Christ.

But that immaterial calling does not stay immaterial. It manifests itself in the material realm. Good shepherds will not just look after the state of the souls of the congregation but also the health of their bodies.

To ignore the physical threat is to misunderstand the Incarnation itself. Christ did not come to redeem disembodied spirits but whole persons, flesh and blood. His ministry was not merely spiritual but deeply material: feeding the hungry, healing the sick, driving out demons, laying down His physical life for His sheep. Likewise, our churches must reflect His care for the whole person.

We prepare the soul with preaching. We guard the body with vigilance. Both are acts of love.

Martyrs don’t bend the knee — even to the state



In 1535, Saint Thomas More went to his death, not in defiance of his king but in ultimate service to both God and England. His final words — “I die the king’s faithful servant, and God’s first” — captured the essence of true religious liberty: the freedom to fulfill the duty to worship God rightly. As the patron saint of religious liberty, More challenges lawmakers and church leaders to renew their commitment to defending that sacred duty.

To More, religious liberty wasn’t just freedom from state interference. It meant the freedom to obey God, even at the cost of his life. His last declaration made clear that duty to God comes before any loyalty to civil authority. Pope Leo XIII put it plainly in “Immortale Dei”: “We are bound absolutely to worship God in that way which He has shown to be His will.”

When laws hinder the duty to worship God rightly, they chip away at the foundation of religious liberty the founders meant to preserve.

More lived this principle, choosing martyrdom over surrender to the world. His death makes clear that real freedom begins with obedience to God — a truth rooted in the moral obligations of human nature. To defend religious liberty is to affirm the duty to give God the worship He deserves, a duty no earthly power — not even a king — can rightly deny.

America’s founders understood this well. They saw religious liberty not as license, but as the right to fulfill one’s duty to God. James Madison wrote, “It is the duty of every man to render to the Creator such homage and such only as he believes to be acceptable to him. This duty is precedent, both in order of time and in degree of obligation, to the claims of Civil Society.”

RELATED: Why Trump's religious liberty agenda terrifies the left — but tells the truth

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America’s founders drafted the Constitution with the understanding that citizens would practice their religious duties — not as optional acts, but as essential to a free and moral society. As John Adams put it, “Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious People. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.”

That understanding now faces growing threats. When laws hinder the duty to worship God rightly, they chip away at the foundation of religious liberty the founders meant to preserve. Consider the case of Colorado baker Jack Phillips. For refusing to make cakes that violated his faith, Phillips endured more than a decade of legal battles, fines, protests, and business losses. He wasn’t seeking special treatment — he simply wanted to live out his faith. Although the Supreme Court eventually sided with him, the fight drained years of his life and resources. Religious liberty delayed for a decade amounts to religious liberty denied.

True religious freedom, as More and the founders envisioned it, demands strong protections for people and institutions to live out their beliefs in every area of life, not just within a sanctuary or under the narrow shelter of exemptions.

To fulfill the vision of religious liberty embodied by Thomas More and upheld by America’s founders, Americans must renew their commitment to strengthening religious institutions through laws that promote the common good. Elected leaders cannot separate their faith from their public responsibilities. Religious truth shapes just governance.

Having just celebrated Religious Liberty Week, we would do well to recall More’s words: “God’s first.” True religious liberty begins with the duty to worship God as He commands. That duty forms the bedrock of a free and just society.

The left's new anti-Christian smear backfires — exposing its deepest fear



The left's new favorite boogeyman — so-called "Christian nationalism" — is back in the headlines. But don't be fooled by the narrative. The real story isn't about Christian extremism but an obsession with tarring faithful conservative Christians.

After police arrested Vance Boelter — the man accused of targeting two Minnesota politicians and their spouses, which included murdering state Rep. Melissa Hortman (D) and her husband — the media seized on Boelter's associations with charismatic Christianity and his background as a preacher.

If there is anything Americans should be concerned about, it's the leftist ideology that seeks to replace God with government and silence dissent in the name of progress.

Quickly, a narrative was born: Boelter is yet another example of "Christian nationalism" and far-right extremism.

  • Wired: The Minnesota shooting suspect’s background suggests deep ties to Christian nationalism
  • The Forward: Understanding accused Minnesota shooter Vance Boelter’s ties to Christian nationalism
  • Washington Post: Minnesota shooting suspect went from youthful evangelizer to far-right zealot
  • New York Magazine: The spiritual warfare of Vance Boelter
  • MSNBC: Killings in Arizona and Minnesota shine light on the crisis of Christian extremist violence

At the New York Times, evangelical columnist David French wrote about the "problem of the Christian assassin," using Boelter as a cudgel to smear Christians — and take a shot at President Donald Trump.

"And right now — at a time when the Christian message of grace and mercy should shine the brightest — America’s Christian extremists are killing people, threatening and intimidating public servants and other public figures who oppose Trump and trying to drive their political opponents from the public square," French claimed.

In the view of leftists and media pundits, this heinous act of violence wasn't the result of one individual's sin but the inevitable fruit of "Christian nationalism." If you hear them tell the story, Boelter's views of Christianity gave him license to act. But it's a lie.

Guilt by faith

Let's be honest about what's happening here: The media, leftists, and opponents of President Trump use the label "Christian nationalism" to smear conservative Christians.

In the media, "Christian nationalism" has become an elastic term that is stretched to cover anyone who believes a biblical worldview should influence public life and anyone who wants their communities to be more Christian.

Do you oppose the LGBTQ+ agenda? Christian nationalist. Do you oppose giving children "trans-affirming" drugs? Christian nationalist. Do you believe that life begins at conception? Christian nationalist. Are you a Christian who supports President Trump? Christian nationalist. Do you believe that America was uniquely founded on Judeo-Christian principles? Christian nationalist. Jesus is Lord? Christian nationalist.

The goal of the "Christian nationalist" panic is clear: to discredit and silence Christians for refusing to go along with the leftist agenda.

By connecting isolated violent acts to "Christian nationalism," they make all conservative Christians guilty by association. This is their narrative: Your faith is suspect, your convictions are dangerous, and your faith, if taken seriously, is a threat to democracy — or worse.

Faith, not extremism

The media and leftists who fearmonger about "Christian nationalism" are intentionally omitting basic truths.

Loving your country and wanting it to flourish is not the type of "nationalism" (i.e., fascism) they accuse conservative Christians of advocating for. Believing in biblical truth and voting in alignment with biblical values is not "extremism," and it certainly isn't an attempt to impose a theocracy on everyone else. Christians who speak about Christ publicly — and want their communities to reflect Christian values — aren't calling for a state religion.

Despite their accusations, conservative Christians are not inclined toward violence.

We want moral sanity. We don't want the progressive agenda shoved down our throats. We want to raise our families in healthy, peaceful communities. We want every American to know and experience the goodness of God and the riches of a relationship with Him.

It's not radical, and it's certainly not extreme.

What they really fear

The heinous acts that police accuse Vance Boelter of committing on the morning of June 14 are not Christian. They are pure evil.

No faithful Christian would disagree with that assessment. And yet, the media rushed to connect an isolated act of evil to all conservative Christians in the name of "Christian nationalism" when there is no link at all.

Not only is it dishonest, but it underscores yet another leftist double standard.

When far-left progressives commit violence, the media instructs us not to rush to judgment. When leftist ideologies produce bloodshed, we're told to wait for the full story. But when an alleged conservative or Christian commits violence (two claims about Boelter that remain more tale than truth), the entire conservative Christian movement is put on trial and swiftly condemned.

The distinction between what the media and leftists define as "Christian nationalism" and actual conservative Christianity is important. Not just for the sake of truth — although truth is important — but for the sake of every Christian trying to follow Jesus in a world that increasingly calls evil "good" and good "evil."

If there is anything Americans should be concerned about, it's the leftist ideology that seeks to replace God with government and silence dissent in the name of progress. The real story here isn't that Christianity turns people violent or results in extremism; it's that people with an agenda who hate Christianity use any excuse to try to turn Americans against faithful believers.

The real nationalism the left fears is a nation that still believes in God and Christians who won't be silent. Don't let them win.

Club Misery: How the godless elite let the truth slip about atheism



What do Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Bill Maher, and Ricky Gervais have in common?

If you’re the sort of person who reads HuffPost, sips oat milk lattes, and thinks everything wrong with the world boils down to white men with opinions, you probably already have your answer: privileged patriarchal monsters.

Atheism, in its purest form, is an ideology of erasure, a faith in subtraction.

But if you’re a little more honest — and a little more curious — you’ll notice something different.

These aren’t just successful men. They’re atheists — and they’re also, quite clearly, miserable.

Bill Maher

Maher is a comedian by trade, but rarely funny any more — at least not in the way that feels joyful or generous.

On "Club Random," his podcast that masquerades as freewheeling conversation, Maher talks over his guests so relentlessly that it’s become the most consistent punch line in his YouTube comments.

  • “Stop cutting them off, Bill.”
  • “Let them speak, for once.”
  • “Do you invite guests just to hear yourself talk?”

He lectures, sneers, and plays the same greatest hits week after week. He’s not sharing ideas — he’s performing superiority. You can practically feel the clenched teeth through your screen.

Richard Dawkins

Then there’s Richard Dawkins, the patron saint of Darwinian superiority, the man who turned religious skepticism into a career of scowling, condescension, and book tours.

Dawkins hasn’t smiled in public since the Cambrian explosion. He scolds believers like a substitute teacher who can’t believe anyone is still talking about God after he’s assigned the fossil chart. Every public appearance is an exercise in barely contained frustration — at creationists, at the Bible, at people who pray for the sick instead of shrugging their shoulders.

RELATED: Richard Dawkins' atheism collides with reality — then it crumbles

Dawkins doesn’t merely disbelieve. He resents belief, and nothing is more exhausting than a man perpetually outraged that billions of people don’t think exactly like him.

Ricky Gervais

Some will point to Ricky Gervais as the exception.

An atheist, a comedian, a master of satire, and they’d be right — at least partly. Gervais is funny. Incredibly so. But happy? That’s another story.

Gervais has never struck me as someone content. Even in interviews, there’s a fog of irritation that never quite lifts. He’s always complaining, always nagging, always rolling his eyes at something. And while he packages the whole thing in charm and wit, the engine underneath doesn’t sound like joy. It sounds like frustration dressed up for a Netflix special.

His entire career — brilliant as it may be — has been a decades-long monologue of gripes. Yes, he makes people laugh. But the deeper source of it all feels like a man quietly suffocating on his own disbelief. If in doubt, feel free to watch his recent interview with Jimmy Kimmel, a practicing Catholic, where he spent minutes rambling about everything wrong with himself and the world — his body, his brain, society, death.

Funny? Sure, but also bleak. The laughter lands, but the undertow is pure despair.

And then there’s "After Life," his hit Netflix show. Lauded for its honesty, praised for its emotion. But look closely, and what you see isn’t fiction; it’s confession. A man mourning his wife’s passing, clinging to sarcasm like a flotation device in a sea of grief. It’s gulag humor without the bars — just a soulless bloke with a dog and a sharp tongue, cracking jokes to keep the walls from closing in.

Gervais is playing himself. "After Life" isn’t just a comedy — it’s an atheist’s eulogy.

Sam Harris

Gervais' close friend Sam Harris is no better.

Before he was consumed by Trump derangement syndrome, he was a sharp mind who took a blowtorch to radical Islam. Harris positioned himself as the cold, rational surgeon cutting through sacred narratives full of hate and delusion.

But even then, the man radiated pessimism. There was always an oddness to him — like he was describing humanity from orbit, distant and curiously detached.

These days, it’s worse. His permanent frown, his stilted delivery, his fixation on Trump supporters as if they’re some primitive tribe to be studied under glass — it all screams anxiety, not authority. He doesn’t project clarity. He projects burden. Every podcast, every essay, every panel feels like another brick in a bunker of airtight, joyless "reasoning" — sealed off from awe, from beauty, from anything resembling peace.

No comfort. No transcendence. No light. Just a man methodically dismantling meaning while sounding more drained with each attempt. Harris whispers meditations and mouths moral truths, all while insisting there’s no divine author behind any of it.

Christopher Hitchens

Even the great Christopher Hitchens — brilliant in so many ways — died with a cigarette in one hand, a scotch in the other, and a rage against the God he claimed didn’t exist.

Hitchens was a man of genuine intellect and rhetorical firepower. He could dazzle a room into silence. He could devastate an opponent with a single line. Joy, however, was never part of the package. The Brit burned hot, but never warm. His wit wasn’t rooted in love. It was weaponized. He didn’t laugh with you; he laughed at the absurdity of the world and often at the people trying to find meaning in it.

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His takedowns of Mother Teresa, of Henry Kissinger, of religion itself — they were theater, yes. But they were also therapy. They came from a place of deep unrest. His war wasn’t just with belief systems but with the very structure of consolation. The human need for mercy, for absolution, for something sacred. He couldn’t tolerate it, maybe because he wanted it too much.

Atheism didn’t bring him peace. It gave him license to rage: to reject sentiment, spit on tradition, and scorn the spiritual longings of billions.

He could speak for hours. But when it came to rest — to true stillness — he had none.

The problem with atheism

The problem with modern atheism isn’t just lack of belief. It’s that it builds identity around lack itself, around the removal of things. Strip away God, strip away the soul, strip away metaphysics, strip away teleology, and what’s left isn’t freedom — it’s vacancy.

Atheism, in its purest form, is an ideology of erasure, a faith in subtraction. And subtraction, no matter how eloquently defended, is not a place from which joy can grow.

It is, however, a place from which misery flourishes. Consciousness gets recast as a glitch, morality as adaptive behavior. Love? A chemical bribe from nature. Everything that once lifted the human soul now gets filed under "illusion."

And illusions, we’re told, are best destroyed.

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But here’s the truth atheists ignore: You cannot build a life — let alone a civilization — on negation. You cannot inspire the heart with “there is no God,” no matter how clever the phrasing. You can’t raise a child on “nothing matters” and expect the child to thrive. You can’t look into the eyes of someone dying and offer neurons as comfort.

This public face of atheism — the podcast hosts, the viral thinkers, the smug Substack intellectuals — don’t sell joy. They sell despair dressed up as clarity. They tell you that meaning is a delusion, that your suffering has no higher context, that the love you feel is just your DNA playing dress-up. They perform autopsies on transcendence, then wonder why their audiences walk away spiritually numb.

Humans don’t just crave truth. They crave belonging, direction, awe, and something to serve that isn’t themselves.

Atheism offers none of that. It hands you a mirror and tells you it’s a map — and then it dares you to walk in circles and calls it freedom.

Here Are 10 Great Clarence Thomas Quotes To Commemorate His 77th Birthday

In honor of his 77th birthday, here are a few of the many great quotes from Justice Clarence Thomas.

MLB star reclaims the rainbow — then shatters a core leftist lie



It took only one Bible passage to expose the myth of leftist "tolerance."

On June 13, the Los Angeles Dodgers hosted their annual "Pride Night," a celebration of LGBTQ ideology and activism. As part of the special night, Dodgers players wore special-edition team caps featuring the Dodgers logo overlaid with rainbow colors.

Christians believe that Jesus is Lord of all creation — including over culture, identity, and sexuality.

Enter Clayton Kershaw, the teams's 10-time All-Star pitcher and committed Christian. He decided to add his own special touch to his cap. Inscribed next to the rainbow-colored team logo, Kershaw wrote: Gen. 9:12-16.

It was a subtle yet powerful reminder that the LGBTQ lobby does not own the rainbow — but God does.

Bible basics

The passage that Kershaw referenced on his cap points to one of the most famous stories in the Bible.

After God destroyed the earth with the flood, God made a covenant with his servant Noah and all creation in which he promised never again to destroy creation with the chaos waters. The sign of that covenant, God explained, is the rainbow.

Genesis 9:12–16:

And God said, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all future generations: I have placed my bow in the clouds, and it will be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. Whenever I form clouds over the earth and the bow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you and all the living creatures: water will never again become a flood to destroy every creature. The bow will be in the clouds, and I will look at it and remember the permanent covenant between God and all the living creatures on earth.”

The Hebrew word for "bow" in Genesis 9 is the same Hebrew word that means a bow used in war and hunting. Interestingly, nearly every usage of the word in the Old Testament refers to the weapon, the only exceptions being in Genesis 9 and Ezekiel 1:28.

The meaning of the rainbow is significant: It's a sign of God's power, his promises, and his mercy — not personal pride in sin and anti-God ideologies.

Leftist (in)tolerance

Like clockwork, leftists (ironically) unable to coexist with people who disagree with them blasted Kershaw. One viral X post summed up their outrage.

"Clayton Kershaw will always be a Dodger great, but it’s things like this that make him a lot less likable. Just wear the hat. Be a tolerant Christian and accept that there are others who believe differently than you," the post reads.

The message behind the post is obvious: Submit. Shut up. Keep your Christianity to yourself.

This is the kind of "tolerance" leftists demand. It no longer means disagreeing respectfully or giving people space to live by their own reasonable convictions. In the leftist worldview, "tolerance" is a one-way street — and there's no room for any views but theirs.

Ironically, the demand for "tolerance" pretends that a double standard doesn't exist. While leftists want Christians to be tolerant of the LGBTQ agenda, they're simultaneously demonstrating intolerance for Christianity. Leftist "tolerance" is a core lie of the liberal agenda, and it's how you know the demand for "tolerance" from everyone else is not genuine.

Truth untamed

To modern leftists, "tolerance" is silence, compliance, affirmation, and total surrender — or else. The problem is that Christianity doesn't operate on these terms.

Faith in Jesus is not a hobby. It's an all-encompassing truth claim that changes literally everything. Christians believe that Jesus is Lord of all creation — including over culture, identity, and sexuality.

To be "tolerant" in the way that leftists demand — such as embracing, promoting, and affirming anti-God ideologies — would require Christians to reject the lordship of Jesus Christ. This "tolerance" guts Christianity of its moral clarity and truth claims, and it reduces Jesus to a private guru who never makes demands of us. And the "tolerant" Jesus that leftists imagine certainly never contradicts LGBTQ ideology.

But the real Jesus doesn't bend to the leftist agenda. Real Christianity bears witness to truth, speaks with conviction, and refuses to be muzzled. When God's truth is weaponized and his symbols are co-opted for anti-God ideologies, Christians must stand up and speak out with conviction, wisdom, and clarity.

That's exactly what Kershaw did. Leftists hate this because biblical truth spoken by bold Christians is both a light that illuminates leftist lies and a disinfectant that wipes them away.

Reclaim the rainbow

In this cultural moment, Christians live under constant pressure to compromise. Leftists love Christians who stay quiet, keep their heads down, and privatize their faith, but despise Christians who dare challenge the leftist agenda and stand up for biblical truth.

But Kershaw didn't back down. His simple protest reclaimed the true meaning of the rainbow, exposed the leftist double standard on "tolerance," and reminded Christians how to act courageously in a culture that looks down on biblical truth.

Let us follow Kershaw's lead.

Reclaim the rainbow. Boldly stand on God's truth. And never cower to leftist demands for "tolerance."

How Tucker Carlson vs. Ted Cruz exposed a critical biblical question on Israel



Beneath the sparks of Tucker Carlson's debate with Sen. Ted Cruz (R) about a possible war with Iran lies a far more important — and ancient — question.

One of the most revealing moments of the interview came about halfway through, when Cruz explained why he wants to be the "leading defender of Israel."

If we reduce scripture to foreign policy talking points, we risk baptizing political agendas in the name of God while justifying more war.

His reason? "As a Christian, growing up in Sunday school, I was taught from the Bible, 'Those who bless Israel will be blessed, and those who curse Israel will be cursed.'"

When Carlson pressed Cruz on whether that means Christians must support the modern nation-state of Israel, Cruz replied, "Biblically, we are commanded to support Israel."

That response failed to satisfy Carlson.

"But hold on — define Israel," Carlson responded.

More specifically, Carlson asked Cruz if he believes Genesis is referring to the modern nation-state of Israel as it currently exists as a political entity, with its current leadership and borders.

"Yes," Cruz responded.

 

Carlson's interjection — "define Israel" — gets at the heart of an important question, a theological fault line in American Christianity: What is Israel, and is there a difference between the modern nation-state of Israel and biblical Israel?

The answer is often treated as self-evident. But the assumption that the modern nation-state of Israel is identical to biblical Israel is not just a matter of political opinion. It's a theological claim, and it deserves biblical scrutiny.

What is (biblical) Israel?

The verse that Cruz cites comes from one of the most important passages in the entire Bible. In Genesis 12, God calls Abraham to leave his family and homeland and go to a new land that he will show Abraham.

Then, God tells Abraham (Genesis 12:2-3):

I will make you into a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.

Notice that God did not say that "Israel will be blessed." Rather, the subject of God's blessing is "you." God tells Abraham that he will be blessed. How will Abraham be blessed? Through his descendants, who will become a "great nation" and a people through whom the entire earth is blessed.

The Hebrew word "Israel," in fact, doesn't appear in the Old Testament until Genesis 32:28. It's first used to explain why Abraham's grandson Jacob is called "Israel." Throughout the rest of the Torah, Israel exclusively refers to a people group: The descendants of Jacob, who are the 12 tribes of Israel.

And Israel, indeed, is unique and set apart.

After God rescues his people from the hand of Pharaoh and brings them to Mount Sinai, God enters into a covenant with Israel and reveals their vocation.

Exodus 19:3-6:

Then Moses went up to God, and the Lord called to him from the mountain and said, “This is what you are to say to the descendants of Jacob and what you are to tell the people of Israel: ‘You yourselves have seen what I did to Egypt, and how I carried you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself. Now if you obey me fully and keep my covenant, then out of all nations you will be my treasured possession. Although the whole earth is mine, you will be for me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.’ These are the words you are to speak to the Israelites."

Israel is God's "special possession" (if its people obey him and keep God's covenant). But for what purpose? To be a "kingdom of priests" and a "holy nation."

What this means is that God established Israel as a unique and set-apart nation for the purpose of mediating God — which is the job of a priest — to the nations. Israel received special honor not for an ambiguous reason, but because God had enacted a cosmic redemption mission since the fall in Genesis 3. And central to God's redemption plan was a priestly people through whom God could be mediated and, therefore, reconciled to his people.

But as the biblical story unfolds, Israel fails its mission. Israel breaks the covenant, pursues other gods, and becomes like the other nations, ultimately abdicating the priestly vocation. Blessing, the prophets warn, is not tied to ethnicity or geography — but faithfulness to God.

Because of the people's unfaithfulness, curse comes to Israel, and God allows Israel to be exiled. In the 8th century B.C., the Assyrian Empire conquers the Northern Kingdom of Israel and takes the people into exile. Those 10 tribes of Israel are mostly lost to history because of their horrendous failures.

Yet God is faithful. He continues to work through the Southern Kingdom of Judea (comprised of the tribes of Judah and Benjamin), but they, too, fail, and are exiled to Babylon in the 6th century B.C.

Fortunately, the story doesn't end there. God preserves a remnant from the seed of David, and Israel's mission is ultimately fulfilled by a Jewish man from a backwater town in Galilee: Jesus of Nazareth. He is the true and faithful Israelite who perfectly fulfills Israel's vocation and perfectly keeps the covenant. Jesus is the great high priest, the anointed one, and the prophet of prophets.

Through Jesus' life, death, and resurrection, God is mediated to all people. The blessings that God promised Abraham are finally realized.

"If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise," the apostle Paul writes in Galatians 3:29.

In other words, the true Israel — the true children of Abraham — is not defined by ethnicity, politics, or national barriers. It is defined by faith in Jesus. Gentiles are grafted into the family of God through Christ (Romans 9-11).

This is the fulfillment of Israel's mission, the Old Testament promises, and God's redemption plan.

Why this matters

How you define "Israel" carries tremendous theological and political weight. If we conflate the ancient covenant people of God with the modern nation-state, we risk distorting the gospel and global politics.

The modern state of Israel is not the covenant people of God. It is a secular nation with borders, politicians, and politics that serve its interests — just like every other nation. It did not exist until 1948, and, in fact, there was a campaign to name the new nation "Judea," a nod to the fact that Jews were settling there. But David Ben-Gurion chose the name "Israel" for reasons of political, symbolic, and geographic pragmatism.

This doesn't mean that Christians shouldn't care about Israel or support its right to exist. Christians should pray for Israel and for peace in the Holy Land.

But our view of Israel must not be rooted in misreadings and misunderstandings of the Bible. If we reduce scripture to foreign policy talking points, we risk baptizing political agendas in the name of God while justifying more war.

In biblical interpretation, context is king.

The true "Israel of God," according to the apostle Paul, is the church (Galatians 6:16). To "bless Israel," therefore, does not mean offering unconditional support to a foreign country that shares a name with the biblical "Israel." It means honoring the covenant fulfilled in Christ and recognizing that the mission of Israel is being carried forward by faithful Christians, Jew and Gentile alike.

Does the Bible command Christians to support the modern nation-state of Israel? No.

If Christians want to be faithful to God and wise in matters of global affairs, we should begin by answering with biblical clarity the theological question that Carlson implicitly raised: What is (biblical) Israel?

Israel is the people of God, shaped by covenant and defined by hope — and ultimately revealed in Jesus Christ. Those who belong to him are the children of Abraham, heirs according to the promise.